Fantasy fight night swaps fedora for Abercrombie and Fitch

THEY say every man thinks less of himself if he has never been a soldier.

The sportswriting equivalent must be the sweet science: every sports journalist thinks less of himself if he isn’t a boxing writer.

Or at least a boxing writer in the New York of the Thirties and Forties, chewing the fat in Stilman’s Gym before hitting the Garden on a Friday night to throw an eye over the next up-and-comer from Brooklyn or beyond.